


Pathetic and Admirable

by ms45



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Crack, Group Sex, Multi, Polyamory, Porn, Threesome, mmf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms45/pseuds/ms45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanging around Isabela has made Aveline more... determined to get what she wants. That doesn't make it any easier to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pair of Snakes

Donnic contemplated his cards. A mediocre hand, but possibly rescuable, not that his opponent was going to give him any help with that. Every once in a while, Donnic questioned his own wisdom in agreeing to play Diamondback with a man whose very life had depended on not having any facial expressions.

"Should I impose a time limit on turns, Donnic? Either your coffee is getting cold, or my ale is getting warm."

Fenris managed to deliver even this snark without any change of expression. Donnic still couldn't tell if that meant he had a winning hand or a terrible one.

Well, Fenris wasn't the only one who could psych out an opponent.

As he played an undistinguished card, Donnic casually said "... my wife told me something interesting about you the other day."

No reaction. Why would there be? Donnic and Aveline often discussed Fenris - they were his closest friends in Kirkwall, and had a long vested interest in his wellbeing.

Blandly, Fenris played his card. Damn him and his stone face! Donnic brought out his heavy artillery.

"She, uh... mentioned you two had a history."

This was not the bombshell Donnic had hoped for. He waited, hoping for any reaction. This merely degenerated into a staring competition until Fenris pointed out that it was Donnic's turn. Shit.

This was the decisive turn. Whatever Donnic put on the table now determined whether the elf kept the guard's beer allowance. Since he was likely doomed anyway, Donnic decided to tip his hand. So to speak.

"She said you'd done something with her... but she wouldn't tell me what it was."

That got a reaction, but not a useful one. "It seems odd that she would mention such a thing so long into your marriage," Fenris said sharply. "There should be no secrets between spouses, or so your vows say."

Donnic played his card. It was extremely ordinary, and he could only hope Fenris had a poor one.

"Spouses don't have to tell each other everything. I didn't tell Aveline about these card games until your bloody dwarf dropped me in it."

Fenris smirked, either at the mention of Varric or because he had a superfluously high-ranking card and promptly won the entire pot. Since the elf was in such a good mood, Donnic pressed his disadvantage.

"Whatever it was, she seemed to like it a lot."

Fenris swept the pile of coins to his side of the table.

"Are you looking for lessons, guardsman? I've already told Aveline I have no interest in training her men." Although his face remained impassive, Fenris was secretly delighted with this little in-joke.

Donnic let the matter rest. He'd confirmed a piece of information - that would be enough for now.

Later, in bed, Aveline asked - in an uncharacteristically hesitant tone - if Donnic had spoken with Fenris.

"Shhh, love. Patience is a virtue."

"You mean you didn't-"

"I did. And patience is _still_ a virtue. Unless you've been fooling me all these years and Fenris was never really a slave?"

~

Members of the "Hawke circle" had an unfortunate habit of underestimating Fenris. Not his fighting ability, certainly, and not even his intelligence, although he still kept his reading material simple, if quite varied. (It amused him that Chantry prayerbooks and Isabela's filth were about the same level of difficulty.) But for reasons he was unable to fathom, every single one of them assumed that he was somehow a delicate, fragile creature who was unable to handle consensual sexual activities.

Yes, he had been a body slave. And yes, Maker damn Danarius for letting that little tid-bit slip in their confrontation in the Hanged Man. And, yes, there were things that made him react... poorly. But in general, he was delighted to be able to dance and drink and screw like any free citizen. And in Isabela, he had found someone with whom he could fulfil his reflexive need to please without needing to fear that she would step into the role of master.

Even Isabela had been surprisingly cautious - "If this is bothering you, sweet thing, you must say immediately. My favourite safeword is 'cherries'—YOWK!" That last exclamation being her reaction to being shoved face down on her cot in the Hanged Man and devoured, fingered and buggered to within an inch of her life. She did not mention cherries at all that night.

Still, Fenris had to give credit to Isabela for even being willing to accommodate his history. And she was the one he turned to for advice on sexual matters. This had the dual function, not only of getting plain information, but of floating the idea of fucking other people. When it was the other way around, it was simple - Isabela would simply say "that redhead at the bar... can I have a ticket of leave?" (Leave from what was never discussed - that would disturb the sensitive balance of their not-a-relationship.) Usually Fenris would agree, but every once in a while he would refuse, just to see what would happen. So far, Isabela had accepted his refusals, albeit with a pout and a complaint that he was just no fun.

So when his close, happily married, apparently conservative friends started dropping unsubtle hints, he felt the need for feedback.

"What happened after your... dalliance with the Hero of Ferelden?"

Isabela looked at him sharply. "We fell in a panting heap of bodies and had a lovely nap. Is this going somewhere?"

"I meant after you parted ways."

The pirate scrunched her face up, trying to remember. “They hunted down the Archdemon, cut off its head and saved Ferelden. Then she ran off with Zevran. I don’t think they’re still together, though. You’d like Zevran, I think. You can discuss preferred methods of avoiding your hunters while he tries to get you out of your armour.”

“Have you met her since?”

“No time, what with the whole Hero of Ferelden thing. Why? Do you want to invite her to join us?”

Fenris merely smiled and pulled her towards him. “What would I need with another woman? You are enough for ten women.”

~

As much as outsiders overestimated how sheltered Fenris was, they underestimated how perceptive Isabela was. Which was fine by her – the more people viewed her as a promiscuous, drunken buffoon who made terrible Dad jokes, the less they expected her poison-tipped blades sneaking under their doublet.

Not only did Isabela know why Fenris was inquiring, it was fairly obvious who might have inspired such a query, and equally obvious that she was not invited. If Fenris had asked, she would have told him to invite the Hendyrs over, break out the top shelf spirits, and challenge them to a high-stakes round of strip Diamondback. Since he would inevitably beat them soundly, he would then have two drunk, naked people to do whatever he liked with. Since he did not ask, she assumed he planned to refuse any requests made of him… but she hoped he would work something out. And then tell her all the details.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Rosemary

“How did you get so confident?”

It was a strange question coming from a tall, broad-shouldered woman who was currently sawing into an inch-thick rare steak, accompanied by a large stein of ale and a tiny ceramic cup of _uisgue beatha_.

“Just my indomitable spirit, I suppose. Well, that and the fact that I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. Once you realise that, the world is your oyster.”

Aveline nodded and bit into her steak. Normally such a repast would be beyond both Isabela and Aveline’s means, but the crises in Kirkwall had generated a lot of extracurricular activity for both of them, and they meant to reward themselves with a slap-up dinner at a tavern fancy enough to know the difference between rare and medium rare, but not so fancy that they would demand that either woman wear a dress.

“Aren’t men put off by your bravado?”

Isabela nearly choked on her porter. “Men? Who are these ‘men’ you speak of? There are 50 thousand of the little bastards in Kirkwall alone. They can’t _all_ be intimidated by women who aren’t complete statues.” She took a long swig of her drink and continued. “You see, your problem was always that whole soulmate idea. That there was only ever one man for you. I mean, I’m delighted that you bagged Donnic, but I can assure you there are plenty of men that would _quiver_ with delight at your manly shoulders and aggressive demeanour.”

“This may be a good time to remind you that I am holding a steak knife at a comfortable arm’s length from your face.”

“Oh pfft, like your brute force is any match for my lightning speed. Anyway, which part of _quiver_ didn’t you understand?”

“Which part of ‘quality control’ don’t _you_ understand?”

Isabela flung her hands in the air in defeat. “Fine, enjoy your monotonous diet. The same old potato day in, day out.” A wicked smile reached her eyes as she bit into a crispy, golden chip. “You know, you can break the monotony. Add a bit of rosemary to your potato some time. You might just like it.”

Aveline chose to ignore this, sinking her teeth slowly into a huge bleeding chunk of beef and savouring it, her eyes closed and ecstatic, clearly appreciating both the taste and texture of the barely-seared meat. There was clearly a sensuous, passionate woman under that stiff, dry exterior, thought Isabela. If there was anything she could do to add some rosemary, so to speak, she would be delighted to help.

* * * * * *

“And if I did, what then, love?”

Donnic brushed a fall of copper hair from Aveline’s face as she blushed and turned away. They were tucked up in bed, wind and hail howling outside, a low fire stacked up in a corner, with no-one to hear their most private moments. Still, she felt a catch in her chest and she could not speak.

“You ask a great deal of both of us, Aveline. I would appreciate some guidance.”

She snapped back to face him. “Why did you agree?”

He smiled and kissed her freckled forehead. “Because I love you, and because our wedding vows demand that there be no secrets between spouses. I want you to be happy.” He pulled her closer, tugging the blankets tightly around them. She wrapped her topmost arm around him and buried her face in his ample chest hair, making that involuntary little _brrrrr_ noise that Donnic found both amusing and arousing. He started again.

“What would you have of us? It is no small matter to ask your closest friend to step into my role.”

“That’s not what I–“

“You know what I mean.” He ran a broad, hairy hand down her body, savouring the lush curves and solid muscles that were his alone. No matter what happened, she was pledged to him of her own free will. And, if she wished to share her desires, he knew she would never really stray.

Aveline breathed deeply, exhaled, breathed again. “I – I wanted to – “ She seemed to hope for some interruption, but Donnic merely stroked her hair. “if you would – “ inhale, “kiss me – there – in turns, and – “ breathing harder, “feel your fingers inside me, both at the same time.”

 _kiss_ “And what will you do, my love?”

“…explode.”

The comic timing was too much and they both giggled helplessly, clutching each other tightly as thunder rattled the windows.

* * * * * *

Asking someone to plough your wife with you is not a request to be made lightly. It certainly wasn’t something the wife took lightly – it had taken Donnic the better part of a year to coax out that Aveline even wanted anything, let alone what ‘anything’ might be. He suspected the pirate’s influence when, after several drinks, Aveline had blurted out that “I’vealwayslikedtheideaofhavingyouandFenristogether”. He must have looked startled because she quickly filled in “withmeImeanIdon’tmeanyoutogetheralthoughnowthatithinkofit, whoa, must be the booze talking.” Which would have a lot more credibility if she had drunk more than three beers and didn’t have the constitution of an ox.

He didn’t blame her – for the blurting, that is. Why she had to race straight past having your arse tickled with a feather to “let’s ask our best single friend who used to be a body slave for an evil blood mage to join us for a spot of rumpo” was a bit of a mystery, but you may as well hang for a sheep as a lamb, and Aveline certainly wasn’t a woman who did things by halves.

And, he had to admit, whilst he had no interest in other men himself, the idea of sharing her with another man intrigued him. It was a happy combination of a better view of her being fucked with the security of knowing that she would never actually be adulterous. Although the selection of Fenris had its sensitivities (not the least of them being the security of Donnic’s beer allowance), the revelation that she and Fenris had had… something… in the past, in combination with his notably tight lips, made him a logical choice to at least float the idea.

Certain that it would be a sensitive and difficult project, Donnic braced himself to lose rather a lot of his beer allowance. At least that would be business as usual.

 


	3. Scrumpy

Aveline felt absolute confidence in certain important areas of her life. Her combat ability was honed by a lifetime of constant practice, with a variety of sparring partners, not to mention her experience in battle and the Guard. Her administrative skills were not as prominent, but her natural fastidiousness and several years under Bran’s tutelage had beaten it into her that there were procedures, and if for some reason you could not use those procedures, there were other procedures. This went against every fibre of Aveline’s get-it-done-and-go-on being, and she was rather proud of having _not_ packed ten barrels of _saar-qamek_ into the Viscount’s office and lit a fuse.

Outside the work arena, however, her self-assurance faltered. As irritated as she was by her namesake, at least Ser Aveline provided a precedent of service, duty and physical courage. As far as Aveline Hendyr knew, there was no historic precedent for fucking two men at the same time.

Well, except for Andraste, but even Aveline’s casually agnostic mind balked from _that_ comparison.

It may seem odd that a woman so uneasy with romance would leap to inviting another man to share her marriage bed, but considering her discomfort with expressing any kind of sensuality, it made sense. Her voice would catch and stomach would clench just as tightly if she had admitted to liking hot baths and long walks in the moonlight. Indeed, it had been easier to confess her desires to Donnic than it had been to declare her interest in him in the first place. 

* * * * * *

“So what _did_ happen with you and Aveline?”

“The point of this game, Donnic, is to _conceal_ the fact that you have a losing hand.”

“I might not. And I have a right to know.”

“You may as well fold now, and if you do have a right to know of your wife’s activities prior to your marriage – which I strongly doubt – then surely your wife is the person to ask.”

“She’s too embarrassed. Must have been pretty impressive.”

“Hurry up and lose.”

Fenris’ peremptory tone was not improved by the realisation that, despite Donnic’s undistinguished hand, his own was yet worse. Donnic briefly considered offering to return the pot in exchange for information, but surmised correctly that Fenris could just win it back off him easily.

* * * * * *

“It was… an accident. With Aveline.”

Donnic was doubly grateful – for Fenris’ sudden willingness to confide in him, and for the indication that he almost certainly had a dreadful hand. He raised an eyebrow in a ‘go on’ gesture. Fenris raised ten silvers – oh yes, a mediocre hand indeed.

While Donnic contemplated his options, Fenris continued “It was after we encountered… (deep, hissing breath) Hadriana. Aveline was a rock for me. I…” Fenris folded his cards together, long, thin fingers protecting them as if they were an amulet, his eyes cast downward. “Hawke was worse than useless, and I’d hardly expect anyone else in his merry band to understand how I felt. But Aveline… knew not to say anything. She poured me wine, and sat with me while I drunkenly ranted.” He stopped abruptly and looked up. “Is something wrong?”

Donnic had made no move at all, and indeed was not particularly obliged to do so. But he always fell for the elf’s not-very-subtle trick of distracting then hurrying him, so he swapped in a low ranking cup, and struggled not to flinch when he got back an equally useless sword. He matched Fenris’ bet and said “So what happened to, you know…?”

Fenris merely drew another card, fanned the hand out with an expressionless face. “Your wife entertains the thought that she is not beautiful.”

Donnic shrugged. “Yes, well. I don’t know where she gets that idea.”

“Idiots. There are plenty of them.”

Some imp made Donnic say “Like your pirate?” before he remembered that Fenris could actually put his bare fist through a man’s chest. Fortunately, Fenris merely smirked.

“Aveline is an intelligent and thoughtful person, but she misses the nuances of envy.” He drew another card and raised.

As Donnic fanned his cards and tried not to look apprehensive, he casually asked “…so…?”

The elf’s green eyes widened in that goddamned puppy face he had. “So we comforted each other. There’s nothing to tell, Donnic. Six months later she was sending you copper embossed flowers – “

“ – can we not talk about that?”

“Certainly. Show.”

Losing the pot was worth it just to shut Fenris up.

* * * * * *

As if Donnic’s prodding wasn’t enough, Aveline had taken the opportunity after their last sparring session to sound him out as well.

“Could you ask your pirate to back off?” she had huffed, flopping onto the floor and waving a hand at the bottle of scrumpy Fenris had scrounged from the well in the basement. He handed it over, inquiring “Since when has Isabela been _my_ pirate?”

Aveline took a long pull on the cider and handed it back. “Fool yourself all you like, Fenris. From where I’m sitting, you two look like a very cosy couple.”

“Hn. Couple? You left out Zevran, Jethann, both of our mages, that idiot from the Hanged Man – “

“Yes, but it’s you she keeps returning to. So I’m asking nicely. Tell – her – to – back – OFF.”

Fenris sighed. “What has she done this time…”

“She keeps hounding me about how my personal life must be so _terribly_ drab and boring, and all I need to do is make like a dockside whore and I can be just like her. It’s getting old, Fenris. “

 _Does this have anything to do with Donnic’s inquiries?_ Fenris wondered. “Perhaps she is jealous. Donnic is a handsome enough fellow.”

The almost beatific look of hope on Aveline’s face dispelled any notion that Fenris had misinterpreted either Hendyr’s investigations.

 

 


	4. Ivory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning. I don't *think* it should be a problem, there's nothing explicitly nasty, and Fenris' musings are based on my thoughts as an abuse survivor, but your mileage may vary.

Fenris was, of course, no stranger to perversity.

As a slave, sex had been part of an intricate system of reward and punishment, carefully balanced so he could never _quite_ predict which behaviour would be rewarded or punished. It was not totally capricious – to be effective as a bodyguard, his success in repelling Danarius’ enemies (whether by violence or otherwise) had to be rewarded. Perhaps predictably, it was frequently rewarded with the “right” to service Danarius. Or perhaps one of his less repugnant houseguests.

It had taken a very, very long time after his escape – well into his involvement with Hawke, in fact – to accept the fact that he had often enjoyed this role. Isabela had been a great help in this. “ _Of course_  you enjoyed it. That’s how they control you. Savage beating today, tender lovemaking tomorrow. Or vice versa.” Her flashing eyes and the hiss in her voice suggested that this was not purely theoretical knowledge.

Staying with the Fog Warriors, he had been disoriented by the familiarity of their interactions, the equality between them. Not just sexually – children yelled at parents and were listened to if their statements had merit, swatted if they didn’t. People accepted or rejected each other’s advances, and while the occasional fight broke out, this was as much to do with the siege the warriors lived with as any romantic drama. Most of the couples were exactly that, but a few people had two or three “wives” or “husbands”, based not on their prestige but on what they needed.  

“My bloke took an injury,” the human Fog Warrior Fenris was scouting with had confided, “and ‘e can’t do the business, see. Doesn’t mean ‘e don’t still enjoy a good show, though, and young Theyssen likes to show off, so we all win.” She winked at him, and took out a hart at 50 cubits. Obviously young Theyssen wasn’t the only one who liked to show off.

Fenris had not become involved with any of the Fog Warriors, but it wasn’t for lack of desire. He just didn’t understand what he could possibly offer these open, friendly, confident people. After The Incident, Fenris had returned to the kind of relations he understood – the tavern mistress who only had room in her bed, the boat captain whose fee could be paid by the inch, the sad-eyed boy on a farmstead in Tantervale who couldn’t offer a place to stay, but who scrounged together some food and coppers in return for being allowed to suck the elf off in the family’s perilously exposed barn. (Fenris never could fathom that one.)

He’d told Hawke, at a time when their relationship had been happier, that there’d been no-one since fleeing Danarius, and that was literally true. For a slave, escapee or no, to form an attachment was insanity. Emotional involvement just meant you had another stick to be beaten with. At least if you had nothing, no-one could take it away from you.

Unfortunately, Fenris’ brave stab at a relationship with Hawke had brought back everything – not just fragmented memories of his life Before, but  _everything_. The danger, the vulnerability, the prospect of returning to total emotional and physical dependence, and as Isabela put it, he “got the fear” and ran like a thousand demons were after him. Which, in a way, they were.

Which is why he valued Isabela more than anything in the world. She only wanted one thing, she was completely explicit about that one thing, and she wasn’t much upset if she didn’t get it. Not interested? Plenty who would step into your shoes, little man.

And if she wanted to fuck Fenris up the arse with her little ivory toy, she would at least have the decency to ask first.

Dwelling on his own history for too long made him bitter, and it made him especially bitter when he thought about how overjoyed he’d been when Danarius ran his wizened fingers though his hair because he’d been such a good pet. At least Hadriana’s attentions had been clearly abusive, allowing Fenris a clean, pure hatred. Hadriana’s torments made him hate  _her_ ; Danarius’ treatment made him hate  _himself_.  

He wondered if he was mad for even considering the Hendyr’s still-unspoken request. But Danarius had sent him as a gift to a group of magisters for helping him steal the deed to an island – an entire island! – and why should a pack of blood mage scum receive the benefit of his ‘talents’ whilst honest, decent folks such as Aveline and Donnic got nothing?

Nevertheless, Fenris had spent many years rebuilding his pride – or perhaps building it in the first place. He would co-operate, he had decided, but by the Void, he was going to make them ask. 


	5. Rogue/Rouge

As was their wont, the Hendyrs had invited Fenris to their home for supper. They had also invited Isabela, but as was her wont, she mysteriously had something else to do that evening. As she said to Fenris with some horror, “It’s as if they think we’re a _couple_.”

Also mysteriously, the pirate took an unusually high level of interest in Fenris’ appearance for what was, after all, not an unusual event. Fenris grumbled as she threw shirts at him.

“I _have_ met these people before, Isabela.”

“That’s just one more reason for you to make an effort. It’s not right to take your friends for granted like that.” Fenris bit his tongue on a number of clever retorts in relation to Isabela’s reliability. She held up a dark green silk bit o’ nothing next to his cheek, trying to work out if it complemented his eyes.

Truth be told, Isabela didn’t want to dress Fenris at all. He looked decidedly tasty, standing there in nothing but leggings and scowling while she played dress-ups. He’d filled out in the years since they’d first met, a regular-ish income and a steady address (of sorts) turning him from a lean and hungry killing machine to a tool of pleasure. She swapped the green shirt for a maroon one, and he snatched it out of her hands. “That’ll do,” he snapped, pulling it over his head while she wistfully watched his torso disappearing into the soft cloth.

She grabbed his face in her hands and dabbed a smidgen of unguent on his lips, then tipped his head back and poked a dot of kohl in the corner of each eye with her pinkie. Fenris wriggled out of her clutches before she could douse him in Orlesian perfume. “I fear you may have misread my purpose. I am visiting the Captain of the Guard for dinner, not moonlighting at the Rose.”

He finally got rid of her (“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”) and, wrapping himself in a fur coat against the chill Kirkwall night, took the back streets to the Viscount’s Keep.

~~~~~~~~

As Guard-Captain, Aveline was entitled to a small but well appointed townhouse with a cook, housekeeper, bath and second-best bed. More to the point, it had a fireplace, a welcome addition against winter in Kirkwall. Fenris let himself in by the servant’s entrance and rang the bell to alert the household to his presence. The cook, a round-faced Fereldan with flour on her hands, shooed him through to the guest room.

Fenris wasn’t the only one who’d dressed up, it seemed. Whilst he would have worried if Aveline had actually worn a dress, she was definitely dressed much more elegantly than her usual civvies. She even appeared to have a faint smear of rouge on her lips. Thankfully Donnic’s commitment to dressing up for dinner remained the same as always – to wit, wearing an ironed shirt and brushing his hair.

Aveline’s Orlesian heritage manifested itself in surprising ways, and dinner at the Guard-Captain’s private quarters was a particularly welcome example. Starting with the relatively light rosé Fenris had brought with him, the round-faced cook (now with clean hands) brought out a platter of pickled vegetables and chunky bread, and when that was down to about half-full, a giant egg pie filled with tomatoes and asparagus and ham and cheese and pepper and something green and zingy. This being diligently chipped away, a platter of sweet pastries with jam and cream and syrup and sugar was presented, about halfway through which Fenris was slumped in his seat in a manner reminiscent of 2am at the Hanged Man.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he protested.

“Lightweight,” mocked Donnic, hammering away at a third helping of the egg pie.

“An unfair comparison. You are nearly twice my size.”

“Fifty percent,” corrected Aveline, missing the point completely.

They retired to the sitting room, Aveline jokingly picking Fenris up in a bridal hold and carrying him far enough to dump him on the couch with an ‘oof’. Fenris chose to respond by throwing his head back and covering his eyes with his arm like the heroine of a terrible romance novel. He and Aveline often joked around, but this level of physical horseplay was not common for either of them.

Stuffed to the gills and mildly tipsy, Fenris lay on the couch at the opposite end from Aveline while Donnic sat in front of the fire with a bear claw. For quite some time, they did not speak, content to listen to the crackling fire and the occasional “mmm-mm” from Donnic.  

There was no such thing as small talk as far as Aveline was concerned, so she sat quietly and listened as Fenris and Donnic bantered about everything and nothing. She had to fight down a twinge of jealousy – Fenris had undergone horrors which she couldn’t even imagine, lived a life of exclusion and homelessness, yet after five or so years of living in Kirkwall he was practically a raconteur. She reminded herself that she was happy for him even as she chafed at not being able to join in the verbal sparring he enjoyed with Donnic.

She wondered if she should sit closer to Fenris. Or was she already too close? But then, Fenris was in the same position he always was after their dinners – sprawled across the other end of the couch, impossibly long legs slanted off to one side to keep his feet off the cushions. On this occasion, he had loosened the fastenings on his leggings, probably as a compliment to their cook rather than from any real need to free his non-existent belly. Aveline was perched at the other end, hands jammed between her thighs in what she firmly believed was cold and not nerves. Donnic was sitting with his legs crossed in front of the fire, holding another pastry in front of him and eyeing it as if it were issuing a challenge.

“You cannot possibly intend to eat that,” Fenris scoffed, turning his face away in horror. As he did so, he brought his feet up towards her. Impulsively, Aveline grabbed his ankles and pulled them onto her lap. He gave her A Look, but stretched out into a comfortable incline.

Donnic took the plunge and bit into the pastry, a massive escargot dripping with fruit and sugar, while Fenris and Aveline disavowed any responsibility for the consequences of Donnic’s overestimate of his own capacity. In turn, Donnic chided them for their lack of faith and their dainty glass stomachs.

Deliberately looking away from Donnic, Aveline asked “You’ve been in Kirkwall for five years now, Fenris. Does it feel like home?” She kept her tone light, but her hand was wrapped around the elf’s elegant wool-clad knee, much more nonchalant than she really felt.

Fenris by now was well used to Aveline’s heavy-handed attempts at lighthearted banter, but this one gave him pause for thought, his already large eyes widening as he considered the question. “It feels – that in itself is something.”

Was he making fun of her? She moved her hand, just in case. Fenris seemed not to notice.

“You should celebrate your citizenship. Get yourself a proper home.” She patted his thigh in what she hoped was a matey fashion. Donnic obliviously demolished his pastry.

“I _have_ a home, Aveline,” Fenris snapped, sitting straight up and swinging his feet to the floor. Shit. Aveline cursed her inability to stick to the weather and local wallop matches. She had to go straight to Fenris’ inexplicable attachment to his run-down shithole. Thankfully, Donnic refilled Fenris’ wineglass and redirected the conversation with a joke about enjoying the company of the desiccated corpses. Why did her men think _that_ was funny?   

Fenris stayed for another hour or so while the party digested their rich repast. Aveline had often had him stay over in the past (both before and after Donnic), and it was certainly bitter cold outside, but tonight she was too embarrassed and suspicious of her own motives to make this quite ordinary offer.

Seeing them off at the door, though, Fenris did something he did not usually do; gave Aveline and Donnic in turn a brief but emphatic hug before disappearing into the night. Did that mean anything? Was he just becoming more comfortable with physical contact? Which would be wonderful, of course, but did it _mean_ anything?

Closing the door, Donnic turned to her with a pleased expression. “I thought that went quite well, don’t you?”


	6. Goddess of War

Fenris’ next visit was not for another month – there were bandits to catch, Qunari to fight, poisons to confiscate, and generally too much excitement for a lone elf in an abandoned mansion to maintain a respectable social calendar. When he did visit, though, the food and booze was piled high and the household staff given explicit orders to take themselves to the most welcoming tavern they could find, an order they readily agreed with. Without the pacing mechanism of servants, booze was prioritised above food, with the result that people who should have known better missed the point at which intimacy gave way to foolishness.

“Are you the only one of us that _doesn’t_ have a dark and tragic past, Donnic?”

Donnic looked blankly at Fenris and Aveline, who were perched attentively over their beer glasses.

“I suppose so,” he eventually said, caving in under the considerable pressure of both of their stares. Neither of them intended to be so intense, yet even in a mood of levity Donnic felt like he was wrestling boulders. Still, he had years of practice in resistance, so he tucked into his pie and waited for them to fill the silence.

“You must have something,” prodded Aveline, eventually.

“Bit late to ask now, isn’t it?”

Aveline sat up even straighter, if that was possible. “Why? Do you have something to confess?”

Donnic looked helplessly to Fenris for support. Not the most useful ploy - Fenris merely widened his eyes and drawled “ _Do_ you have something to confess?” Betrayed, Donnic snapped “Surely we can agree that you win the prize for a dark and tragic past?”

Fortunately, Fenris was drunker than he looked and feeling generous. “My past is an open record, guardsman,” he said, waving his glass at no-one in particular. “I am a former slave. Aveline is a widow of the Fifth Blight. But you… _schola_ , _exercitus_ , _vigil_. You must have some trauma.”

Donnic shook his head. “Everyone I’ve killed needed killing.” He pulled up as his wife shot a horrified look towards Fenris, who just shook his head. “An enviable position. Could you not have saved a life, then?”

“Of course there’s things that could have gone better. But I don’t lie awake at night because of it.”

“I knew there was a reason I married you,” said Aveline.

“Aside from the 12-inch plonker?” said Donnic, immediately falling about with laughter at Aveline’s crimson face. Fenris smirked, then cut in with “And how long did it take you to stop resting on your laurels?” which shut Donnic up and set Aveline off instead.

“Not you too! Between you and that bloody pirate…”

“Pirate? Isabela’s tastes are moderate, I can assure you. And no,” in response to Aveline and Donnic’s suddenly pricked ears, “I am no more giving away her secrets than I would yours.”

“Isabela doesn’t deserve privacy,” blurted Aveline.

“That is not the point. You do not publish my private affairs, and I do not publish anyone else’s.”

The couple fell into a mysterious silence. Fenris wondered if they would take the opportunity. When they said nothing, he merely held up his empty glass and waved it in a disappointed manner. Donnic leapt up to get a fresh jug of ale.

“Was he lying?” asked Fenris, not really caring about the answer. Aveline, direct and literal as always, said “Technically, I suppose. It’s nothing you couldn’t face. I mean - I” Her face reddened again as she realised what she’d just said.

“Donnic, your wife is attempting to pimp me to you. Ah!” This exclamation being in response to Donnic’s near-drop of the jug. “Bring that here. Now, you are an army man - are we to believe you have never slept _mano-a-mano_?”

"Aveline! What the hell have you been telling him?" Donnic kept the tone light, refilling their glasses and letting her hide behind two inches of yellow froth. 

“Do not avoid the question. You are large – have you contained multitudes?”

Donnic affected outrage. “People assume that because my wife is the size of a small Qunari I must enjoy biting the pillow. I –“

– was not going to be allowed to finish that ill-advised sentence. Aveline leapt to her feet and roared “ENOUGH!” As the men stared in astonishment, she pulled open the buttons of her blouse, finally tearing them in frustration and ripping her pretty blouse to her waist, exposing huge, creamy breasts with a rich dusting of freckles.

“I am NOT a miniature Qunari, I am NOT a female golem, and I am NOT Lady Fucking Man-Hands,” she fumed, grabbing one of Donnic’s giant paws for emphasis.

“Darling –“

“Aveline –“

Both men cautiously put a hand out to Aveline, gently touching an arm or shoulder.

“I never –”

“You don’t –“

“Never what? Never fall back on snide comments about my masculinity? Never take advantage of my authority?” she hissed, turning a green glare on Fenris, who was placing a hand on her bicep and thinking the situation somewhat unfair.

Donnic place his hands on her shoulders and nuzzled her hair. “I’m sorry, Aveline. But if I wanted a wee slip –“

“What Donnic is trying to say,” growled Fenris, who could see things going horribly wrong already, “is that you are a goddess of war and the scourge of crime, and we both love you very much.” His relatively short stature allowed him to dip his head and place a gentle kiss on her collarbone, causing her to gasp as her nipples brushed against his silk shirt.

 _Oh_ , thought Aveline, as she suddenly realised she was wedged half-naked between her husband and her closest friend. _Ah_ , as Fenris’ soft white hair brushed across her jaw, contrasting with her husband’s scritchy evening shadow rubbing her neck. _Oh_ , again, as their rapidly stiffening cocks pressed up against her, and their hands explored her exposed skin and tickled at the waistband of her pants. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone reads Latin, feel free to correct "school, army, guard".  
> Next stop - PWP!


	7. Sunburst

Aveline had forgotten how soft Fenris’ lips were.

She gasped as his tongue flickered at her erect nipple, Donnic lifting her breasts from behind with his massive hands, both of them rubbing her bare torso with their clothes, silk and cotton and wool.

Fenris’ long, elegant fingers played lightly over the seam of her trousers as he came up for air, pausing only to take a deep breath before kissing her mouth softly, too softly, it tickled and she moaned and tried to lean in closer but he backed away and Donnic was nibbling on the bone at the base of her neck and the stubble scratched her skin and _Maker’s breath, did_ I _make that noise_?

A green smirk and a muffled _grrrmf_ from behind indicated that yes, she did. Fenris stepped back, wide eyes taking in the spectacle before him, not just her large breasts with erect nipples like Feastday sweeties, but the whole picture, her torso tightening as she thrust her still-clothed hips outward, the cascade of copper hair falling over her face and shoulders, her face that was gaping and scrunching in a most unladylike manner as Donnic blew into her ear.

Fenris himself was far from the picture of guarded detachment he usually maintained, bland expression replaced with a heated pout and a calculating look as he considered his next move. His erection bent uncomfortably, and he pulled at his leggings to release it before closing in for another kiss.

Once again brushing lightly over her lips before pulling away, this time to work his way down, lingering over her nipples, slurping on them both as Donnic squeezed her breasts together. Then dropping to his knees to cover her belly in soft kisses, dragging his tongue along the line where her pants ended while he patiently worked at her buttons.

Both men tugged indelicately at her trousers and she reached down to help, only to have Donnic gather her up in a bear hug, grasping her arms to keep her in place. Fenris peeled down her smallclothes, smiling dreamily at the sunburst of bright hair that sprung out of them. He leaned forward and kissed the bend of her hips, the tops of her thighs, licking a line up where her legs met in the middle but never quite getting to where she most needed him to be. She thrust her groin forward, pants still awkwardly around her ankles, only to have Donnic pull her back.

“Please… please…” Was that really her, begging like an abattoir dog? Fenris kissed her quickly and lightly in the exact place she needed it and she wailed, thrashing viciously.

“Please what, my darling?” Donnic whispered into her ear. The elf, Maker rot him, leaned in and delicately licked the length of her engorged clit. “AAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEE!!!” was probably not, as such, the response her husband was looking for.

“Lick me,” Aveline panted heavily, inhibitions crushed by the flow of blood to her groin, “both of you. At the same time. No! In turns. Um. Just. UNNHH!!!” This last in response to Fenris dragging his lips, not even his tongue, over the lump poking out of her magnificent bush.

“But surely you must tire of giving orders, my love?” said Donnic, still gripping her tightly in his hairy, muscular arms. “And to issue such orders to Fenris seems such bad form…” (“Hn” mumbled that individual, idly blowing at Aveline’s pubes.)

“FUCKING LICK MY CUNT OR BY THE MAKER I WILL HAVE BOTH OF YOU SONS OF BITCHES THROWN IN THE FUCKING STOCKS” shrieked Aveline at the top of her lungs, causing Donnic to collapse in a pile of helpless giggles. Freed from his grip, Aveline bent over to pull her pants over her feet, only to bump heads with Fenris, increasing her husband’s mirth.

“Come, Donnic,” Fenris murmured, “your role here is clear – I cannot be expected to do all of your work for you.” He helped Aveline to the couch, sliding his hands down her inner thighs to open her legs, a faint glow visible through the silk of his shirt.

“You’re right – hang on – “ Donnic sat up, caught his breath, and took a long pull from the ale jug. Then, shoving the elf aside more indelicately than he intended, he plonked himself between his wife’s legs, reached under her bum to pull her to the edge of the couch –

– and stopped, the insufferable bastard. “Won’t this bring you off too early?”

“YOU BASTARDING CUNTSTALK!” she screamed, grabbing at his head (cuntstalk?! _Have to save that for later_ , she thought giddily). Fenris looked a little worried, but Donnic merely grabbed her wrists and held them tight.

“What did you say you wanted? Back when you first suggested we…” Aveline glanced at Fenris, worried he might be offended at her presumption, but he only looked expectant.

“I want everything” she hissed, knowing she could be inviting unexpected consequences and not really caring. “I want you to lick me til I can’t breathe and then I want you to spray me with your cum and lick that off. I want – “

“– us to lick you out in turns with our fingers buried in your snatch” finished Donnic, Fenris nodding absently as if agreeing to patrol a particularly boring section of the Wounded Coast. 

Aveline panted. “You remembered.” 


	8. Guard Training

“Should we give her what she wants?” asked Donnic, still clutching Aveline's hands above her head. “Or shall we leave it for dessert, so to speak?”

“She wants a lot of things. I am sure we can give her all of them,” replied Fenris, rising to his knees. Deftly, he reached over and pulled open Donnic's pants, eliciting a surprised “Hey!” before Donnic noticed his wife's eyes dilating to the size of dinnerplates. He kept a tight hold on her wrists while the elf wrangled his undeniably massive cock out of his trousers and began to wank it with long, firm strokes.

Donnic wasn't lying when he said he wasn't interested in men – it certainly wasn't as if he lacked for opportunity if he fancied a bit of the other – but surely it made no difference who wanked you off, especially when the result was that his robust and usually unflappable wife was gaping at both ends, thrusting her hips upwards for attention. Fenris rewarded her by rubbing the head up and down her soaking wet cunt as he rubbed his own still-clothed erection against her leg, pinching at her nipple with his free hand. He let Donnic thrust the head in then tugged it away, increasing his grip and speeding up. Donnic thought he was going to grant her request to get spunked from head to toe when the elf leant down and, before the guardsman could object, took a long, firm suck.

Both Hendyrs let out an incoherent howl, Donnic nearly losing his grip on Aveline's wrists. “Maker, _yes_ ” moaned Aveline, tilting her head between her arms to get a better look. Encouraged, Fenris swirled his tongue around the bright pink head and dipped in even deeper, the sucking emphasising his high cheekbones. He removed his hand from Aveline's breast and gently tickled the guardsman's balls, careful not to pull at anything delicate.

“Andraste's great flaming _arse_...” Donnic had never experienced anything like this. Aveline, bless her, was enthusiastically all teeth, not _bad_ – you'd have to work pretty hard to be bad at this sort of thing – but this, this was something else. He felt like a string was being pulled between the eye of his cock right through his arsehole and up his spine, and … and... Maker...

“No! Stop! I can't...” It took a superhuman effort, but at the elf's next gulp for air he pulled away, dropping his wife's wrists and pushing Fenris away, maintaining just enough presence of mind to do so by the shoulder and not the head. Not that it was much of an improvement – the green eyes looked hurt as only Fenris could, and he shrank away in a manner that would have made Donnic feel an inch tall if he wasn't too busy trying to piece his own brain back together.

“I am sorry. I thought...” Fenris started to tremble, when Aveline sat forward and put her arm around him.

“Don't be. He's being loyal because you're better at it than I am.” She kissed Fenris on the forehead to show she was being kind, but both men could hear the bitterness she was trying to hide.

The elf turned up his face and caught her mouth with his, burying his hand in her masses of copper hair. Donnic looked away, aroused and feeling lousy for feeling aroused and wondering if this whole thing had been a terrible idea.

Then Fenris reached for him and asked “Is that request for guard training still open?”, and Donnic decided it would probably be OK.

Staggering to his feet, he swayed as two heads, white and flame red, gathered at his waist. Fenris wrapped his fingers around the guardsman's shaft and bent it downwards, allowing Aveline to put the head in her mouth as the elf whispered in her ear. Donnic couldn't exactly hear what was being said, only that it was gentle and encouraging and WAHHH, rather effective. He could see her shoulders flexing as she took Fenris in hand, so to speak, and then FUCKING VOID she pulled back and let the elf have another suck.

“I am going to drown both of you in jizz soon, so you'd better make a choice...” gasped Donnic. Fenris took one more gulp and, removing Aveline's hand from his own cock, wrapped it around her husband's and began instructing her on how she could best combine her hands and mouth, guiding her movements as he purred filth into her ears. At his suggestion she leaned forward and, still tugging Donnic's monster, flicked her tongue over the delicate skin of his sac. The elf licked at the guardsman's bell end, which was all too much for Donnic, who immediately shot a sharp white glob of cum mostly into his mouth. Grasping Aveline's hand in his giant paw, he helped her pump every last bit of juice out of him, and she came up to catch her own share.

Donnic collapsed in a heap, dazedly watching his wife and his friend kissing each other deeply, licking stray lashings of cum off each other's face and laughing about finding drips in their hair.


	9. Antivan Feather Dancing

“What did you do to her that was so impressive? She _still_ won't tell me.”

Donnic had somewhat recovered the use of his grey matter, and was content to sit and watch Fenris and Aveline explore each other's bodies. Fenris was still mostly dressed, and Aveline was running her hands over his silk shirt while he pulled her wrists away every time she tried to undo his buttons. The elf pulled away from nibbling on the point of her chin to suggest “if modesty prevents you from sharing, perhaps you would allow me to show him?”

Aveline turned a bright crimson, but nodded. Still kissing, they made their way onto the couch, where Fenris once again took Aveline's wrists and held them tight while he tickled her neck and collarbone with his tongue. She hissed and arched her back as he made his way down to her nipples, drawing one in between his lips and sucking cold air around it, flickering his tongue and demanding “Look,” when she closed her eyes. He did this only on one side, knowing it would drive her just a tiny bit mad to not have attention lavished on the other, before trailing soft, fat kisses down her belly.

He nuzzled the bright orange puff between her legs, soft and fuzzy and smelling like cheap but homey milk soap. She bit her lip, trying not to moan and failing magnificently, and as he slipped his tongue between her folds she actually growled. As he traced the edges of her inner lips she grabbed at him, or tried to, and he pulled up to order Donnic “Take her hands.” The big man scrambled to his knees and grabbed her, kissing her mouth and chest as he did.

She whispered “move, I want to see”, and Donnic shifted out of the way, as Fenris gently held her lips apart to flutter his tongue around her opening, which she promptly squeezed shut with a _hnnnnnng_. He looked up at her, green eyes holding green, and never dropping his gaze, slowly licked a line up the very centre of her cunt, using only the very end of his tongue.

“Unh! Stop. It's too good, I don't want to...”

A black eyebrow raised – _stop?_ \- and a pink tongue curled out, and she clamped her thighs together, trapping him firmly. “I mean it! I... I don't want it to end too soon... especially if...” The elf laughed and kissed her thigh, and tugged at her to let him free.

She released him from her grip and brought her knees up to her chest, anticipating what was coming. Donnic pushed her up and squeezed in behind her, wrapping his arms around her to keep her held tight. Thus she was propped up in a half-sitting position, her big hairy bear cuddling her from behind while her little weasel ( _hmm, think of something better... later_ ) wriggled in to get comfortable. When he dived in and she felt the expected tickle at her arse she scrunched up her face, determined not to screech or moan or wail, and she even got away with only a low _hrrrr_.

She threw her head back, air hissing through her teeth, as Fenris' wicked tongue delicately explored her sensitive anus. Coming up for air, he slipped a finger into her vagina, feeling her soft arousal closing around him. As he bent back down he inserted another finger, and this time she was unable to contain herself, letting out a moan that seemed to come from the very bottom of her lungs to become a piercing cry at its peak.

“I... can't... ahh...” She clutched Donnic's right hand as his left caressed her breast, surprisingly delicate for such a slab. He kissed her ear and whispered “How does that feel?”

“I think I'm going to split in half. This is... there's nothing... oh _Maker_ ,” gripping his hand with white knuckles. “ _Fuuuuuuuuck_.”

Fenris rose to his knees, still sliding his fingers into Aveline's cunt. “There is plenty of room here. You should assist, guardsman.” Both officers stared at him, dazed. The elf sighed. “Come here, Donnic, and help me.”

With some shuffling and grunting, they shifted position. Donnic kneeled on the floor, still not entirely sure what Fenris was getting at, and Fenris got Aveline to sit up and twist sideways, holding one leg up so that her centre was completely exposed, flame red and slick with arousal.

“Now,” proposed the elf, “I may continue my attentions, and you add to them. If you join me here,” thrusting two fingers gently but firmly, “we will give her all she desires and more.”

“HURRY UP I THINK I'M GOING TO - “

Finally twigging, Donnic slid a finger in alongside Fenris', loving the sight of Aveline's eyes rolling back in her head as she clutched her thigh to hold herself open. Fenris had returned to licking her arse, his dainty tickling replaced by broad wet strokes, and Donnic spread her lips and poked his head down to lick her fat, pouting clit. It was awkward, but no more so than trying to eat those damned stonefruit that occasionally showed up in the market. Plus, the stonefruit didn't scream your name and detail all the filthy things it wanted to do to your cock.

Aveline was also thinking about stonefruit (it _was_ an apt comparison), torn between wanting her long-time fantasy to last as long as possible and the fact that she was quite possibly about to die from the aneurysm she would surely endure when she came. She could feel their fingers, quite separately – Donnic's huge and calloused, Fenris' slender and scarred – thrusting into her alternately, and while her upper leg was becoming a little tired, it was nothing compared to the feeling of those two tongues lapping at her most sensitive parts. Her entire insides hollowed out, and she could feel Fenris add another finger, and it _still_ wasn't enough. Donnic wasn't exactly where she wanted him to be – she grabbed his head in a way she'd never do with Fenris, but Donnic was a big boy and got the hint straight away. _Oh yes_. The world came to a swirling singularity in her groin as he tongued her erect clit.

“Oh fuck yes. YES. Keep – thrusting. Yes. Your tongues – my cunt – lick. Yes. Ohhhhhh fuck, Fenris, you – are – _brilliant_. Oooohhhhhhhh _yesssss_. Oh fuck, it's too good. I can't – I'm going to – Oh Maker!” Her spine, her brain, her groin all curled inward as her orgasms crashed through her body. The men thrust into her vagina, feeling it twitch around their fingers as she collapsed in a heap.

* * * * *

“Was that... _it_? I mean, having your arsehole licked?”

Both Fenris and Aveline glared at him.

“I mean, I thought you were going to ask me to dress as an Antivan feather dancer and sacrifice a chicken or something.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Donnic,” warned Fenris.

“I'm _hurt_. Hurt and offended. You'll be sleeping on the couch for this, woman.”

“ 'm already sleeping on the couch.” Aveline clutched her knees to her chest and snuggled into the comfy cushions, relishing the feeling of her heart pounding blood around her body.

  
  


  
  



	10. Taxidermy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections on service and subservience. Possible trigger warning for abuse recovery. Tea.

“Are you all right, Fenris?”

The elf was coiled up at the end of the couch, arms clutched around his legs, staring intently at a spot in front of him which Aveline assumed was not actually her knees. At her query he started a little. “ ‘m fine. Just…” He waved his fingers at the side of his head in a familiar ‘loopy’ gesture, flicking up a bit of hair as he did. “Bah.”

“Come up and join us,” suggested Donnic, waving him forward, to where he and Aveline were slumped together like satisfyingly exhausted spoons. Fenris shook his head. “No room.”

“If you’re worried about squishing me, don’t,” said Aveline. “You’ve worked hard, you deserve a rest.” She patted her chest to indicate he could come up and lie on her, if he wanted. He shook his head again, more emphatically. 

“Not … work.” His head sank into his knees, hair flopping down like a veil. 

Donnic prodded Aveline to move, extricating himself from behind her. “We’ve both worked hard, Fenris,” he said lightly, picking up the ale jug and pouring the last of it into the elf’s glass. “Here.”

Fenris turned his head to look at Donnic. “No. I… I’ll…” He uncoiled himself, and gently pushing Donnic out of the way, made his way out in the general direction of the privy. Donnic and Aveline stared after him. 

“Should I get him?”

“No, give him a minute. He’s earned some alone time.” 

* * * * * 

Outside, the cold was a relief after being in front of a fire all night. Fenris sat on the stoop and wished he had a pipe. That he did not smoke was a minor quibble. 

He knew he was likely embarrassing his hosts, and he knew he didn’t want that. And he _had_ enjoyed himself, very much – hearing the stoic, practical Captain of the Guard wailing like a cat in heat, and her equally doughty husband losing his balance under Fenris’ attentions. _He_ did that. 

_The lad is quite skilled, isn’t he?_

Fenris was unable to cry. He envied the blood mage her capacity for full-throated howling, but it was not in him – whether it was the lyrium, years of ill-use or simply the way he was. Instead, his whole body trembled, almost unnoticeably, from the many, conflicting messages his body was sending him. 

_Once upon a time you had affection for me. I remember it fondly._

_It can be a lot to take in, I know._

Ah, Hawke. 

Not an evil man, for a mage, but not a man given to worrying excessively about the effect his actions had on others. 

Not that Fenris could really hold Hawke responsible for what he had become, that night at the mansion. How he had dropped to his knees without so much as a gesture from the mage, how he had begged to be fucked, for Hawke to cum inside him, in his mouth, on his face, anything, any perversion or indignity the mage might demand. He did that, too. Of his own free will. 

_You’d gone without for many years, Fenris. You can’t blame yourself for having needs._

She had never said as much to him, but Fenris heard this internal voice of reason in Aveline’s kind but firm voice. 

And when it was over – exhausted, sweating, covered in his own and Hawke’s seed – the memories overwhelmed him, and he was convulsed with shame. Now, he felt a little like he did then, only a touch – the trembling, the cold burn on the back of his neck. 

_You have friends, Fenris._

Acting with, not acted on. 

_Are you safe?_

_Very well, have your “man time”, then._

_Sadly, they never made it to prison._

Fenris smiled at that last one. He huffed a grey curl of steam from his nose and began mentally cataloguing all the good things the Hendyrs had done for him. 

* * * * *

“He’s been out there for a while…” 

“Yes, go check on him. I’m going to make tea, want any?”

“Oh god yes. Back in a tick.” 

* * * * * 

The door opened suddenly, and Fenris, who had been resting his back on it, abruptly sat up to avoid falling over. 

“You’ll catch your death out here. Aveline’s put a kettle on. I know you like your tea to taste like tanner’s piss.” 

Fenris smiled as he rose from the steps. “You mean she’s boiling you both a cup of hot water. You – what is that abomination?!”

Donnic beamed. “Thought you’d like it. We took it off a slave ship we busted last week. Had to hide it from the missus to get it home.”

“It” was a bearskin robe, the hood of which was the bear’s head, inset with bejewelled eyes and golden horns, a particularly revolting example of Tevinter couture. It was garish, tasteless, and degrading to bears. 

“I can see why,” said Fenris, stepping back into the house. 

“Fenris, I’ve left yours in the kettle. I know you like yours extra – Donnic! I thought I told you to burn that thing!” Aveline would have crossed her arms if not for the cups in each hand. 

“We could do it right now,” mused Fenris, looking in the direction of the fireplace. 

“Tcho. I can’t have anything nice,” said Donnic, retreating to the bedroom, well satisfied with the reaction to his treasure. Nothing like an awful bit of taxidermy to drive away the mopes. 

“Are you all right?” Aveline asked Fenris again, flinching as she realised how naggy it must sound. 

“I… am better. When we have a chance, we should steal the bearskin and pitch it in the ocean.” He went into the kitchen and poured himself some tea.


End file.
